Tables Turned
by medcat
Summary: Answer to modified prompt #92 from 2nd prompt table by KCS in watsons woes LJ community--illness contracted from a patient; cross-posted to watsons woes. Second chapter now added by popular demand!
1. Chapter 1

Voices faintly registered on my consciousness as I drifted in what appeared to be the darkness and heat of late-evening desert…

"Dr. Watson? Please say something!" and another, near-frantic voice that could only belong to Sherlock Holmes: "Watson, I demand you answer me!" I attempted to respond but found myself unable to move a muscle or even to open my mouth, and then blackness slid over me…

When I next awoke, I could not at first understand where I was. Certainly the bed was not mine and I could smell antiseptic and other odours—a distinct hospital smell…wait, a hospital? Was _I _the patient this time? I opened my eyes and beheld the familiar figure of Sherlock Holmes slumped in the chair at my bedside. He looked as bad as I felt—the colour of his face rivaled that of the bed linens and the circles under his eyes were black. He must have been exhausted since he hardly even stirred when I called his name.

"Holmes?"

"Mmhm?"

"Holmes!"

He opened his eyes and nearly leapt out of the chair when he saw me awake and looking at him.

"Watson! How do you feel?"

"Not very well—and that's putting it mildly—but I suppose I'll recover…What happened?"

"Do you recall the patient you saw on Wednesday?"

Indeed I did…how could I not? Grief stabbed me afresh at the recollection, and Holmes put a sympathetic hand on my arm. The patient was a delightful five-year old girl who died that day of meningitis. A thought occurred to me.

"Holmes? What day is it today?"

"Saturday, Watson."

"So I have only been ill for a day or two?"

"No, Watson…it's been over two weeks…" his eyes gleamed with what I could only assume were unshed tears, and it was my turn to grasp his hand in sympathy.

"Tell me what happened."

"I came home from a case that Friday and found you delirious…you did not even recognize me. I called Jackson and he recommended that you be taken to the hospital. You slipped into a coma the next day…"

Oh…no wonder he looked so bad…

"Holmes, have you eaten or slept in the last two weeks?"

He gave me the ghost of a smile. "My dear Watson, always trying to take care of others…I'm certain I did at some point, although I cannot precisely recall when."

"Would you do me a great favour?"

"Anything, you have but to ask."

"Go back to Baker Street for a meal and some rest; I'll still be here when you return."

"Very well." He reluctantly got to his feet and left the room. I smiled and closed my eyes, feeling sleep stealing over me.


	2. Hippocratic Oath

**Author's note: Here's chapter 2, since several people wanted a continuation and an idea for it came to me this morning. Hope you enjoy; reviews and constructive criticism most welcome, as always!**

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I awoke the next morning feeling marginally better. The throbbing headache had diminished in intensity, and the nausea had subsided. I opened my eyes to find Sherlock Holmes sitting in a chair by my bed watching me with a small smile on his face. Several morning newspapers were piled at his feet. I sat up in bed and licked at my dry lips, and immediately Holmes poured a glass of water from a pitcher on the bedside table and handed the glass to me. As I sipped the water, I marveled at how much more considerate he has become in the years we've known each other; I liked to flatter myself that I had some small influence on him in that regard.

"Watson?" he ventured, still watching me so intently as if afraid I would disappear at any moment.

"Yes?"

"Do you feel up to talking?"

"Of course; go on."

Holmes said nothing for several minutes, lacing and unlacing his long fingers and studying them with such intensity as if he had never seen them before.

"Well?" I finally inquired. "What deductions can you draw from your hands?"

He gave his usual quirk of a smile at that.

"My apologies, Watson…it appears I am having more difficulty broaching the topic than I anticipated."

Needless to say, I was taken aback…Holmes, hesitant to speak his mind?!

"Just go ahead and say it," I suggested gently. "Surely we've known each other long enough to be able to discuss just about anything?"

"Very well. I remarked once, half in jest, that I am lost without my Boswell. I have come to realize, over the years, that I meant it more than I thought…" he broke off as his voice cracked.

"Holmes, are you attempting to say that for the past two weeks, you've been worrying that I would not recover?"

The look on his face was answer enough.

"Holmes, how many times have you been injured on a case or disregarded your own health so as to aid a client? I do not believe you have done these things only because you love the mental stimulation your work provides. I have sworn an oath to help those who come to me to the best of my ability. The relationship of patient and doctor is a sacred trust…I cannot take it lightly when I hold someone's life or at least good health in my hands. I cannot refuse to treat a patient for fear of infection, especially a child…for I know how it feels when you lose a child…" here my own voice broke.

Holmes, on the other hand, seemed to have regained his usual control over his emotions.

"My apologies, Watson. I did not intend to distress you. I know you whole-heartedly believe what you have just said. I remember your emphatic remark when I told you to keep away for fear of deadly contagion in the Culverton Smith case: "Good heavens, Holmes! Do you suppose that such a consideration weighs with me for an instant? It would not affect me in the case of a stranger." I was merely attempting to say, as you correctly surmised, that I was…well, why mince words between such old friends? I was deathly afraid you would not recover…I cannot express to you how relieved I am that you will."

"And one thing more," he added, thoughtfully tapping a finger against his lips. "Notwithstanding what you've just said—and I can certainly understand your sentiments, even if I do not always agree with them—I beg you not to take unnecessary risks. I truly _would_ be lost without my Boswell."

We shared a glance of perfect understanding…no further words were necessary.


End file.
